


Spooning Required

by sevenimpossiblethings



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenimpossiblethings/pseuds/sevenimpossiblethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ariadne Philips, do you pledge to carry out the duties of this office to the best of your abilities?” Eames asks.<br/>“I do,” says Ariadne.<br/>“Excellent,” says Eames. “Let’s begin. If you could both lay down on the bed, please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spooning Required

**Author's Note:**

> For the Inception Bingo prompt, "spooning."  
> Thanks to M.D. for the last-minute beta on the opening.

It happens as these things usually happen: near midnight halfway between somewhere marginally respectable (their job site) and somewhere not respectable in the least (their post job hideaway). 

Up until then, the getaway plan goes off without a hitch. Eames and Yusuf leave first, because Arthur’s driving makes Yusuf nauseous and Yusuf’s chemicals need to get to the special storage unit at their safehouse on a strict timetable. Ariadne stays with Arthur to do a final sweep of the warehouse and tie up the remaining loose ends of the job, before heading out for the safehouse several hours later by way of a different route. No one objects to the routine arrangement of Eames ditching the car as soon as Yusuf is installed in the temporary lab. 

Later, Ariadne will recount the details to Eames in full—the blown tire, the dropping temperature, the quarter tank of gas, her wariness of the “moose x-ing” sign they passed a half mile before—but the end result is that the motel is nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, there’s only one room available, with one bed. She and Arthur are pointedly informed that all of the extra, portable beds parents usually make their children sleep on are already in use.

The twenty-something behind the counter eyes Ariadne, then Arthur, clearly trying to determine whether they’re related. She thinks about telling him off, but she’s tired and has nearly been trampled by a moose today ( _and Eames thinks he’s the only one with imagination_ ), so she lets the employee off the hook (for now).

“We’ll take it,” says Arthur.

Arthur pays cash. The employee gives him a look that clearly says _are you for real_ , but Arthur just forks over another twenty and requests extra blankets. Ariadne admires his efficiency.

By American standards, the room is tiny, but it’s warm and the carpet is reasonably clean, which means it’s at least a thousand times better than dying by way of hypothermia and/or moose.

Arthur strips off the duvet at once, holding it between his thumbs and forefingers as he deposits it in the tiny gap between the bed and the wall opposite the door.

“You snob,” Ariadne says cheerfully. She drops the extra blankets on the duvet-less bed, her overnight bag still slung over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” says Arthur. “You can have the bathroom first.”

By unspoken agreement, Arthur does not comment on Ariadne’s duck-print pajama set, and Ariadne does not comment on the fact that Arthur’s worn t-shirt is clearly far too large to have been originally his own, even given the loose standards of sleep wear.

Instead, she texts Yusuf.

 **Ariadne:** Arthur is wearing Eames’s t-shirt to bed I don’t know if I can sleep in the same room as all that wholesome amour

 **Ariadne:** You’re right, there’s nothing wholesome about their love

 **Ariadne:** Except??? I hate them

 **Yusuf:** I didn’t say anything.

“Side preference?” Ariadne asks, indicating the bed.

“Irrelevant, I’m not going to sleep,” says Arthur. He sits in the desk chair.

Ariadne narrows her eyes. “I do not have the patience for any sort of ridiculous chivalry right now, so you—”

“I’m not being chivalrous. I’m telling you, I’m not going to sleep.”

“I don’t kick,” Ariadne huffs. She _doesn’t_.

“Congratulations,” says Arthur. “Eames does.”

Ariadne cannot with him. Who decided Arthur could drop all sorts of casual intimacies about his relationship with Eames on her? She did not sign up for this kind of cuteness. She signed up for breaking the laws of physics, thank you very much.

“You’re being absurd. We’re adults. We can stick to our own sides of the bed. It’s not that hard,” says Ariadne. She sits down on the edge of the bed and pats the spot next to her.

“I find it… difficult to sleep under the most ideal circumstances, but especially right after a job,” says Arthur. He clears his throat. “I have a particular—routine that I need to follow, and as I don’t have access to that at the moment, it’s better that you sleep, and I sit here and not keep you awake all night with my restless attempts.”

“Are you some kind of addict?” Ariadne asks bluntly. She is one hundred percent sure that Arthur is not, but it’s best to be thorough. (She learned that from Arthur.)

The corners of Arthur’s lips turn up in a small smile. “No drugs, I promise. Go to bed.”

“Now you have to tell me,” says Ariadne. “Maybe I can help. Is it a bath?”

“You’re going to help me take a bath?” Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“It was a _guess_ , and no thank you,” says Ariadne.

“It’s not a bath,” says Arthur. “Jesus, how would that even work? Like we always have access to decent baths right after a job.”

Ariadne snaps her fingers. “Is it a lullaby?”

“ _No_ ,” says Arthur. “Anyway, I would have ‘access’ to a lullaby, remember? We’re not playing 20 Questions. Go to sleep.”

“Boring,” says Ariadne. She bounces a little on the bed. As if she could sleep when Arthur has presented her with such a delicious little mystery. “Honestly, I’m having trouble believing you. I’m going back to the chivalry theory, because there’s no way you could have survived the Army and your first years in dreamshare—yes, I got Dom to tell me the stories, don’t look at me like that, he was very easy to persuade once I convinced him I could be ‘scared straight’ away from this business—if you relied this much on something to help you sleep.” 

“It is something of a recent development,” Arthur allows. “And I _can_ sleep, but I—I really prefer not to, without this, right after a job. So. You sleep, I’ll start making plans for how to get us out of here tomorrow.”

“Just tell me what it is and we’ll figure it out. You need sleep, too. You’re not a robot.”

Arthur makes a half-hearted attempt at a beeping noise, à la R2-D2. (Ariadne prefers BB-8, but you don’t get to pick which Star Wars robot your would-be bedmate elects to mimic.)

Ariadne snaps her fingers and points at him. “I’ll call Eames.”

“Don’t call Eames.”

“Oh God, is it an orgasm? Do you two have sex before bed every night? Because, yeah, no, pass,” says Ariadne.

“Thanks,” says Arthur dryly. “It’s not an orgasm. Although our sex life is quite active, thank you very—”

“Stop, stop,” says Ariadne. “I only want to hear about the fabulous sex you and Eames have on a regular basis when there’s another person with whom I can discuss how gross you are.”

She picks up her phone again.

 **Ariadne:** ARTHUR IS BEING GROSS AGAIN

 **Yusuf:** Let me guess… he mentioned date night?

 **Ariadne:** ACTUALLY GROSS HE REFERENCED SEX

 **Yusuf:** Poor baby. Your innocence is lost forever.

“Noted,” says Arthur. He spins a little in the desk chair. “Good night.”

“Nope,” says Ariadne. “Do you sleep naked? Is that it? I’m not a huge fan of the idea, to be honest, but we could arrange the blankets so that—”

“I sleep fully clothed, much to Eames’s chagrin,” Arthur assures her.

“You’re so cruel to that boy,” says Ariadne.

“So he tells me,” says Arthur. “I notice a distinct lack of you going to sleep.”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Ariadne chants, and if she feels a little bit like an eight-year-old pestering her older brother, well, it’s worth it. 

**Ariadne:** Do you think of me as the team’s little sister?

 **Yusuf:** I’m not in the habit of getting my little sister off, so definitely not.

 **Ariadne:** Arthur won’t sleep with me

 **Ariadne:** I mean, in the same bed

 **Ariadne:** There’s only one bed

 **Ariadne:** I hate this motel and I hate moose and I know I play up my gung-ho, rural Midwestern origins but there is a reason I was studying in Paris

 **Ariadne:** It was a good reason until it landed me stuck with stubborn point men who refuse to sleep

 **Yusuf:** I’m attending a chemistry conference in London in a few weeks.

 **Yusuf:** You could come with me.

 **Yusuf:** We could go to Paris after.

 **Ariadne:** I would send you a ~sexy~ pic if Arthur weren’t here

“It’s embarrassing, just drop it,” says Arthur.

Time to play her trump card.

“ _Arthurrrr_ , Eames would want you to sleep, what would Eames say if he knew you were refusing to even _try_ to sleep tonight, what is Eames going to think of _me_ if he knows I slept the night away, while knowing that you were sitting awake in a hotel desk chair? He’ll let the projections get me, next time we go down,” Ariadne insists.

“Eames will not let the projections kill you,” Arthur says. “Eames will roll his eyes, sigh, possibly pat you on the head for having tried—”

“—and then drag you to bed and not let you out until you’ve slept for at least twelve hours,” says Ariadne. Because they’re _gross_. Their domesticity should be fucking X-rated (never mind their actual sex). 

“Possibly,” Arthur allows. “There, my future sleep is assured.” He points toward the pillows. “Sleep.”

“I swear I won’t tell,” says Ariadne. “I’ll keep it a secret until my dying day. You and Eames are the only people who have a shot of getting free reign through my brain, so no worries on the dreaming front.”

Before Arthur can reply, Ariadne’s phone rings in her hand, and she answers it without looking away from Arthur.

“Are you finally caving on the no phone sex thing? Because as much as I am completely on board with that, I have this small problem of being trapped in the tiniest hotel room in the entire United States with an annoying Arthur who refuses to sleep, so—”

“As much as I would love to hear more about your attempts to lure our chemist into the dark waters of phone sex,” Eames says, and Ariadne presses her other hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing loud enough to wake their neighbors. “I come to present a solution to your _other_ problem.”

“Hi, Eames,” Ariadne says pointedly.

Arthur slumps a little further into the chair.

“Put me on speaker for a minute?” Eames requests.

Ariadne hits the speakerphone button and sets the phone down on the bed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Eames says.

“Hi,” Arthur says grudgingly.

“Ariadne’s going to do this thing for you, and you’re going to let her, because it’s going to make _me_ feel better. And then you and Ari will finish getting to us tomorrow, and I’ll do the thing Ariadne is going to do tonight, except better—no offense,” Eames says.

“None taken,” says Ariadne.

“I don’t need sleep,” Arthur pouts.

“Normally I would not deign to reply to that, love, but since I cannot give you a Look… Ariadne, help me out here?”

Ariadne gives Arthur a Look.

“Look received,” Arthur says, his lips pressed together like he’s fighting a smile.

“Ari, you’re a marvel,” Eames says earnestly. “I will tell Yusuf when he returns with our takeaway. A true marvel.”

“Pretty sure Yusuf was ahead of you on that one,” Arthur interjects.

“Anyway,” says Eames. “Task at hand, and all that.”

“Right,” says Ariadne. “Which is what, exactly?”

Arthur buries his head in his hands. The lighting is poor, but it does little to disguise the blush overtaking his cheeks.

“Arthur requires spooning,” Eames pronounces, with all the solemnity of a royal birth announcement.

Ariadne bites her lip and very pointedly does not laugh.

“I see,” she says, her tone as grave as she can manage.

“Ariadne Philips, do you pledge to carry out the duties of this office to the best of your abilities?” Eames asks.

“I do,” says Ariadne.

“Excellent,” says Eames. “Let’s begin. If you could both lay down on the bed, please.”

“Ariadne is a grown woman. She knows how to spoon,” Arthur says, but he stands and flops onto the bed anyway.

“I resent the implication that I spoon you in any ordinary or easily replicable manner,” says Eames. “General spooning skills are non-transferable. Arthur-spooning skills are refined over a period of—”

“If you say _years_ , I will remind you that it has only been eleven months and seven days since we…” Arthur trails off. 

“And who’s to say my technique won’t continue to improve?” Eames says.

“I literally hate you both,” says Ariadne.

She lays down next to Arthur, tugging the scratchy extra blankets over them both and setting the phone in the foot or so of space between their heads.

“I don’t know, Eames, I’m not sure if I want somebody who ‘literally hates’ me to _spoon me to sleep_ ,” says Arthur.

“Shut up,” says Ariadne, and flops onto her side, flinging an ungraceful arm over Arthur.

“Eames is better,” Arthur complains, but his face is turned into the pillow now, so the words come out muffled.

“Spooning has commenced,” Ariadne informs Eames.

“Bad spooning,” Eames corrects. “So, what you need to know about spooning Arthur is that—”

“No,” say Arthur and Ariadne.

Ariadne tugs Arthur a little closer, settling their bodies more comfortably together. Arthur doesn’t resist.

 _Is this weird_? Ariadne wonders. It’s a little weird, but not… weird-weird. Not sexual-tension-fucking-will-commence-in-five-four-three-two weird. Just weird in the way it’s weird to be physically close to someone you’re not usually physically close to—to smell and hear and feel, beneath Arthur’s soft, too-large t-shirt, little details you don’t normally learn about people toward whom you only feel platonic affection.

It’s intimate, but—after Arthur relaxes fractionally against her—not uncomfortably so. It’s nice. (Spooning is better, of course, post-orgasm with Yusuf, but Ariadne is willing to admit her baby monkey status: all friendly cuddles are welcome.)

“Everything good over there?” Eames asks.

“All good,” says Ariadne.

“Acceptable,” Arthur says.

“I will pinch you,” Ariadne warns.

“You won’t,” says Arthur.

(She won’t. She’ll pinch him later, in the car, once they recommence their journey toward Eames and Yusuf.)

“Okay,” says Eames. There’s a pause.

“We’ll text you updates on our location,” Ariadne says. 

“Sleep well,” says Eames.

Ariadne takes a moment to reflect on how awkward it is to be the third wheel while _in bed_ with one of the original wheels.

“Good night, Eames,” Arthur says.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Eames says. “Thanks, Ari.”

“Good night,” Ariadne says.

She retrieves the phone from the pillow and ends the call.

 **Ariadne:** Tmr night, I wanna be the little spoon

 **Yusuf:** Meaning you want to start out as the little spoon, and then by three or four you’ll be the big spoon, and by seven there will be ample space for Jesus between us.

 **Ariadne:** I’m migratory

 **Ariadne:** But yes, exactly

 **Yusuf:** No objections here.

 **Ariadne:** I should stop texting before Arthur gives me a grumpy face for being a sub-optimal spooner

 **Yusuf:** You’re not a sub-optimal spooner. (Although I suppose you might be while texting.) 

**Ariadne:** Good night

 **Yusuf:** Good night, sweetheart

 **Ariadne:** zzzz 


End file.
